I've wanted one for y e a r s now. Mostly because:
- I think they're pretty - It will probably frustrate my family, which is always fun - There's something about permanently marking my body with my commitment to Christ that strongly appeals to me. Maybe it's because I live such a comfortable life, but I can see so clearly how...easy it would be walk away. I find myself wanting to walk away. Not for like big, dramatic reasons, but the small things that creep in without noticing. For example, these past 2 weeks I've realized I kind of like a boy. But it doesn't seem like this boy is entirely devoted to God--oh, he prays before eating and can quote Bible verses, but is the will and work of God primary in his life? I know, deep in my heart, that if I ever marry I want it to be to someone I can co-labor with; someone who spurs me on towards the Lord when I am tired, who encourages me, who challenges me. And I'm not sure this boy could do that. But the shallow part of my heart that likes him. And it coos so sweetly about how nice a life it could be, if maybe I was just a little less rigid in my faith--less uptight, less "legalistic" and "judgmental" about how other Christians live. So yeah. I see where my heart is bent. That's part of why the permanence of a tattoo sounds so appealing. People make the commitment to get married usually when things are going well and they're happy--and when life gets difficult, it's the commitment that drives them forward. The rings they wear are maybe "just" symbols, sure, but as humans we're always looking for ways to make corporeal the intangible. It helps us remember. So I want some kind of tattoo-- something that symbolizes my relationship with God, or my commitment to his kingdom, or something to that effect-- so that my permanently transformed spiritual self is in some way reflected in my outward physical body. A reminder to me of my vow to serve him, and that I have been forever changed by his spirit. Also, they're pretty. Rae
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I work in a predominantly male environment..... specifically a socially-inexperienced-male environment; as a sweeping generalization, developers aren't always the most extroverted people. These are single adult men, living in a society that tells them not to be emotional or need people, who chose a career where they spend all day alone in their office.
I see the human need for intimacy starkly played out almost constantly. Most of the guys have (at some point) told me "I don't really like people". But once we started getting a group together for lunch every day, they happily took a break to hang out. They'll come to every movie night, trivia night, or weekend brunch. For a group of self-proclaimed loners, they sure like to be social; though at first it's always tinged with a shaky uncertainty of whether they're really included. It also manifests in more damaging ways. I know guys who have never had a close friend--who think they're not capable of close friendships. I see guys falling for the first girl that shows them even the barest of platonic care, because to them it's the greatest affection they've been shown in a long time. Others protect themselves by becoming so cynical and jaded that I think I finally understand what it means to have a heart of stone. Loneliness is killer. Literally. This study found that "The influence of social relationships on risk for mortality is comparable with well-established risk factors for mortality." People are meant to be with people. We have a deep desire to be known intimately, almost as deeply held as our fear of the same. I know I feel a tension between my hopes to be fully known and understood, and my absolute terror that if anyone actually did, that there would be no possible path forward for our relationship. It's one of the terrible and beautiful things about God--that we cannot hide from him, and yet he does not reject us. I more often focus on my fear of the first, rather than remembering the lavish grace that comes with the second. Loneliness is imprisoning. The less you feel known, the less you believe it's possible for someone to know you Sometimes I feel weird trying to minister to my coworkers at a tech company. It's nothing at all like the slums of Kolkata--we have bougie fizzy water in our break room refrigerators. But when I look at them, all I can see how fervently they're seeking for what God can provide them. Rae I don't need a tragedy to shake my solid ground; Pride has really fucked me up.
I take every good thing in my life and I attribute it to my own effort; every bad is somehow a trial God sent me through that I overcame. I have the most pitiful collection of "merits" that I jealously guard. I can't bear to give them up--they've become my very skin, the way I create my Self each day. I'd have to flay myself in order to return them, to scrape off the layers of Competence and Confidence and whatever else has grown invasively, choking out the spirit I'm meant to be showing. Was it C.S Lewis who remarked how naked you'd be without even your skin? I tried to pray about it this week in church--tried to say "God, please rid me of my pride" but I couldn't. I didn't mean it even a little bit--I don't want God to remove it because I can feel how much I've placed on it. I can see how much I'll lose. I don't want him to touch what I've precariously built--leave it alone. It might be shaky, but at least I know it. So I changed the prayer. "God, show me my pride and make me repulsed. Make me disgusted at what I've done. Maybe then I'll let you get rid of it". I'm not sure I mean this one, either, but it's closer. I'm so unwilling to submit myself to the humility of not knowing, not understanding, of trusting God and stepping out when the bridge is invisible. I still have no idea why I'm in Madison, why I have this job, these friends. I hate not knowing. I just want God to tell me his will. I need to know that I'm doing the right thing. I need that security, that affirmation. I want to know that I've done well. I want to please him. How the fuck am I supposed to do that when you won't talk to me, God? If you'd tell me I'd be calmer. If you told me, I could trust you. If I knew what you wanted I could do it without question. I would, right? It's all pride, every bit of it--the idea that God owes me explanations, the idea that if I'm doing the "right" thing I'm a child more deserving of his grace. And as God tries to root it out of me I spit at him for taking away the "good" I think I've found. I'm so content with so little. I refuse to put down scraps of stale bread when he offers a feast. Pride convinces me to resist the healing work I need and resent God for offering it. I tried to think of what I should write about after years of silence here. I have no clever observations, no snarky commentary. All I have is what I'm trying to process through. So here's a raw journal entry from me. I'm going to try and write here again--hopefully much sooner than this last time. Rae |
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